Bitter Nectar

Knock the door of conscience Open the closed mouth of pen Write a note on the page of sky Read the hidden line of book tie Friends are many, hither to thither The winter winds are slowly drear Brighten smile of the sun is too far Who knows that the moon is not fair Ideality is spayed tips in golden gen Fear is a trend of elated ignorance Scythe of time spends the lofty sigh Wicked try to absorb with money pie Money is not conscience but a trapper Allow all scent but don’t with high gear ©Mahtab Bangalee Chattogram 20/11/2022